Other villagers had attempted to use a nearby lake as a means of escape or concealment, but soon – too soon – the waters danced with bullets and went red with blood.
But not all the Tatana fled. A number of them slung rocks at the hovering warcraft, and some even hit their mark. One young man popped out from behind a half-crushed hut to throw an axe at an airboat that had drawn low. It hit one of the gunners in the thigh. The soldier rolled off his seat, howling in agony, and a different soldier took over the vacated gun. The young Tatana was dead less than a second later.
It was the closest Kino had come to cheering since the spectacle began. She stole a glance at Corporal Yasuo. His face was ashen.
Behind her, Hermes whispered, "Score a point for the good guys."
The warring parties worked hard to bring down anyone fleeing the village, picking them off one by one. But there were too many, and it was impossible to kill them all. Several people, some with children wrapped in their arms, managed to dodge the bullets raining down around them, escaping into the rocky hills. The "warriors" did not pursue them. Instead, they concentrated their firepower on the people still inside the town; some even fired on fallen villagers they suspected of playing dead.
Eventually, there was nothing left moving in the village, and the sound of gunfire died a way. Smoke drifted across the ruin – gray amid the brown and green and splashes of red.
Kino looked up into the sun until her eyes stung. It was now only a fist-length away from its noonday zenith. So many dead in such a short time.
The priest flew through the town again, blowing a whistle that was amplified as his voice had been. Fire ceased completely and the hovercraft gathered at the edge of the village, forming ranks once more.
"Time limit," explained Corporal Yasuo. "The 'war' is over."
The four barges moved from among the spectator vehicles and descended to the tom ground at the edge of the village.
"They're the counters. They'll collect the hits from each side of the battlefield, and sensors aboard their craft will measure the weight of the kill. The victor is the side with the most wounded or killed Tatana. Spectators must wait at the campaign grounds – the plateau. We'll have to go there now. Is that okay?"
Kino nodded, unable to speak – afraid of what might come out of her mouth. The smell of blood drifted up, and for a moment she saw a long knife blade gleaming in the sun as it protruded from a twisted body that lay at her feet. But the hovercraft moved away and the moment was gone.
The soldiers were in good cheer as they rallied at the campaign grounds to hear the counters' tallies. Until then, they had not exchanged a word with their adversaries, but now they were laughing, men from one column calling out to those on the other side.
The craft settled, still in their columns, and the soldiers spilled out onto the plateau where tents had been set up with refreshments.
The soldier who'd been hit in the leg with an axe reappeared, limping, his thigh wrapped in a bandage. He was showered with applause and cheers from both sides. He laughed, embarrassed, and was given a badge of some kind by the priest, which earned him more cheers.
At last, the counters returned. Each barge bore a mountain of corpses. Blood dripped from the decks.
The war-priest moved to the foredeck of his own craft, and announced, "The results of the measurement have been verified. The victor of the One-Hundred and Eighty-Fifth War is Veldeval – ten to nine!"
The Veldevalian soldiers exploded with good cheer, while the Relsumians showed their disappointment with bowed heads. But they soon recovered, and gave the victors a salute, which was returned with great camaraderie. Then, waving their hats at each other, the proud soldiers returned to their hovercraft and headed home.
Corporal Yasuo, piloting his spectator craft back to Veldeval, was unable to contain his excitement. "We did it! We won! Again! There'll be a victory celebration when we get back! Say, if you need any supplies for your travels, you should buy them today. Everyone will be in high spirits and give you great bargains."
"Can I ask one thing?" They were the first words Hermes had uttered since the battle ceased.
"Anything!"
"What do you do with the bodies of your... victims. You don't bring them home with you, do you?"
"We refer to them as 'the kill.’ No. We dump 'em to the east of the city. Out in the wasteland.”
"Thought so. I guess that solves the mystery of the mummies.”
Kino hardly cared. And the questions she wanted to ask could not be so easily answered. I can't do anything about it, she told herself and remembered the words of a village elder who had once spoken to the other Kino: Traveler, in every village, in every home, there are different customs. You know this. In this village too, we have our own customs. These customs are not to be altered by any actions you take. I'm certain you see that.
"I do see it," Kino murmured. Corporal Yasuo gave her a questioning glance from beneath his lashes.
As Yasuo had predicted, Veldeval spent the balance of the day in celebration. "The town was flooded with laughter and music, wine flowed like water, and people danced in the streets. Also, as predicted, when Kino tried to buy rations, the drunken shop owner had given them to her for next to nothing. Kino bought supplies until Hermes nearly buckled under the weight. "Then they returned to the hotel. There was nobody else there.
The next morning, Kino woke, as always, at dawn.
Veldeval was silent.
She showered, practiced with her guns, checked her baggage, and raided the hotel kitchen for breakfast. When the sun was well over the horizon, she woke Hermes. He was groggy; he seemed to need more sleep whenever he sensed Kino was "in a dangerous mood." She had to acknowledge that she was in such a mood now.
He came wide-awake when she said, "We're going back to the history museum."
"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked.
"No. But we're going."
"And what are we planning to do when we get there?"
"I don't have a plan."
"Okay... and I thought 'I have a plan' were the scariest words I'd ever heard you say."
In the unnatural quiet of early morning, Kino pushed Hermes to the museum. They found a young soldier sleeping in the entrance, a bottle wrapped in his arms like a baby. Kino thought of the Tatana mothers who had died cradling their children in just that way. But those mothers and their babies were now dumped coldly on a distant plain; this man would wake and live. Someone had even stopped to put blankets over him.
Kino pushed Hermes up the wheelchair ramp into the museum, and the curator came out to meet them. She had not joined in the celebration; her eyes were dear and bright, her face composed.
"Good morning, Kino, Hermes."
"Good morning, curator. We've come to finish the tour."
The curator led them to the final exhibit. The corridor was quite dark until she pressed a switch, turning on the lights above the displays.
The sign on the wall read: The Evolution of War: Peaceful Coexistence.
"You watched the 'war' yesterday?" asked the curator.
"Yes,” answered Hermes. "And we solved the mystery of the mummies in the wasteland."
The curator nodded and looked at Kino, as if waiting for a response, her gray eyes watchful.
Kino schooled her face and voice to show no emotion and hold no inflection. "I didn't see a war yesterday. What I saw was the massacre of the Tatana people. Not soldiers, but civilians – men, women, and children. People who could not defend themselves against any aggressor. Especially not one so technologically advanced." There was no edge to her words, no anger evident behind them, not even any astonishment, though she felt both.
The curator said, "Well, based only on your experience yesterday, I imagine you would see it that way. But that is the way we conduct 'war.'"
"How did it get like this? Could you tell me?" Kino asked.
The curator turned on the lights inside the final display case, which featured current history. "As you saw the other day, our two states could no longer sustain the war. We were impoverishing our people and wasting our greatest resource – our children."
The curator pushed a button on the monitor, and a video began. It was titled: Two Minutes on the Battlefield.
Shapes and colors slowly faded. Several frightened soldiers were huddled in a trench in the wasteland, long guns clutched in their hands. There was a whistling noise, and the soldiers ducked. The sound cut out for a second, and the image shook, dust flying. One of the soldiers screamed something, his lips moving silently. Then sound returned, and all the soldiers leapt from the trench, moving into a charge. The camera followed them, the wide shot lingering on their backs as they ran. Their screams were audible now, as was the whizzing sound of the black objects flying toward them. One of these landed on the ground, ricocheted from the earth, and hit a soldier in the chest, cutting his body in two.
The curator said, "For many years, this kind of warfare continued, killing countless soldiers. The man you just saw cut down just now was my husband."
The image suddenly twisted; the sound melted into a roar. Then both sound and picture were lost as if in a sandstorm. The screen went black.
The curator continued slowly, "I can never forget the old wars. I can't forget anything about those days. I had four sons once. They were my pride and joy. After I lost my husband, I lived only to raise my children into fine men."
"Men who went to war?" Kino guessed.
The curator nodded. "'When the One Hundred and Sixty-Ninth War began, my sons vowed to avenge their father's death. One after another, they volunteered for the army. My second son, Sotos, was shot by a sniper. Then my third son, Datos, stepped on a land mine and was blown to pieces."